A Father to Many
by mellyb6
Summary: Post S3 (so spoilers) - Aramis tells the King and Queen about the orphans from the Monastery in Douai.
1. Chapter 1

Inspired by this prompt: _How about the children from the monastery visiting Aramis and playing with the new King? Also Anne meeting the children that he has told her about. I'm assuming at some point he would have told her._

* * *

 **PART I**

In only a short few months, Queen Anne has come to realize that one of her greatest fears had no basis. After all, when you have only spent a handful of moments with someone and most of what you know of them comes from observing them from afar, or simply from what your mind imagines, the reality might be quite different when comes the time when you are able to spend almost every day with them. But Aramis has never disappointed. Since he's accepted the position of First Minister and has moved to the Palace, the Queen has cherished every waking minute she is blessed to witness his smiles and his kind eyes. How he bows respectfully, how his lips move with silent words because they are being careful.

How he frowns in deep concentration whenever he reads messages and has to make important decisions. How his face lightens whenever they manage to be alone together. The guards at the open doors do not matter. Nobody cares what the Queen does at night when courtiers have retired, when the King is resting and when the grounds are mostly silent. Queen Anne may have chosen to respect the year of mourning for her late husband, she doesn't mind the black gowns and staying in the Palace as long as she has Aramis' companionship in the evenings.

After supper, when her life is finally her own for a little while, when her hair is down and she has slipped out of heavy clothes to breathe in her flowing chemises and light dressing gown, she cherishes these nights sitting in her apartments, all windows opened to let in the late summer breeze and the songs of the birds in the trees. It's quiet even though it's hot and the sound of her fan is the only one disturbing her peace of mind. She's never felt happier. Mainly because she has never enjoyed such intense moments she could share with someone dear to her.

They may not be talking for the time being, Aramis is nevertheless sitting by her side, lounging in his armchair more like, the stern attitude of First Minister gone from his gestures and emotions. The carefree man is back for a couple of hours, and the Queen could look at him endlessly without tiring of it. She has learned so much about him during the summer, now that their positions are closer than when he was a soldier. Now that they can speak more freely even in public. Now that he's told her about his family or how he came to become a Musketeer. How he's met his friends, how he liked to spend his free time, although they had so little compared to the long hours where Queen Anne had nothing to do but reflect on her sad life. There is nothing sad about it anymore and she'll never stop thanking God for everything He's given her in the last years.

All these hardships and perils were worth it in the end. She has a healthy son and even though it might never be the freedom she wished for in life, it's close enough. It feels natural and normal to sip wine in silence, to listen to pages ruffle in Aramis' hand or to hear his short chuckles.

"Only Porthos could find laughable facts to relate about the war," Queen Anne mentions, turning her head toward Aramis, finding his sharp eyes staring straight at her, his lips pulling into a smile at her voice. She's so beautiful in the glow of the candles that his heart stutters at the sight. Every time. It'll probably never stop because he cannot believe how lucky he is. He won't question it anymore, he'll simply accept all the favors granted to him. He's accepted that it might be dangerous but he's finally happy right where he is and it's more than enough.

"Some of the new Musketeers with him have much to learn about living in the field."

"Tell me."

" _Roland tripped on a root and spilled the entire soup in the mud. You should have seen Brujon's face when they realized their dinner had gone wasted. If you see d'Artagnan soon, tell him to send less clumsy children. Although Rolland is on his sure way to become a better shot than you ever were._ "

Aramis tuts at this, halting in his reading of the letter. Rain must have soaked through the paper because some words are smeared with ink making it difficult to decipher them. Aramis leans forward toward the candle on the table. The Queen shifts in her seat, raises her head to peak at the letter as well.

" _Someone must have told them what we used to do when we were fresh recruits because I found them trying to shoot apples off their head. You'd think I was promoted to be their governess and not their General._ "

Aramis does laugh at loud at this anecdote, having no problem picturing the new Musketeers trying to re-enact past exploits of theirs during their time away from the front. The Queen stares at the words, wondering what exactly is going on at war. The other letter the General sent and that was read during the Council meeting was devoid of all friendship and humor. A strictly formal one about strategies, losses and supplies needed. She's at least glad Porthos hasn't turned into a somber man being away from his family. Queen Anne hopes with all her heart that soon they'll manage to put an end to this dreadful war.

"How is his bride doing?" she inquires once the letter is folded. Aramis didn't read all of it but she could see the last paragraph over his shoulder. The part where Porthos asked him to look after his wife and their baby.

"She has a lot to adjust to. She used to live in a terrible place but now they're both in Paris, safe, and I do believe Constance is with them most days."

Aramis goes to call on Elodie whenever he is out in town, which unfortunately doesn't happen as often as he'd like. With the Garrison being rebuilt, he has the excuse of meeting with d'Artagnan more often and Porthos' new lodgings aren't that far. Nobody would dare contradict the First Minister of France if he wanted to delay his return to the Palace. Aramis has earned his place in a couple of weeks, making wise decisions and showing that he could be an efficient politician. Some things he despises doing, but as long as he can see the Queen and the King, he'll endure them.

Elodie is grateful for the visits, not intimidated by who he is, having met him before. There is almost no decorum between them, just like there is none between him and d'Artagnan and Constance when they are by themselves. They are friends first and foremost. The baby girl is growing fast and if Aramis gets to hold her, he likes to think he does so for Porthos who hasn't returned to Paris since leaving for the front when the Queen ordered it.

"I don't believe I have ever met her," Queen Anne ponders.

"She was there at your son's blessing ceremony."

The Queen smiles at the words, reaches and grabs Aramis' fingers. Her hold is warm and strong, blissfully loving. The callous skin, rough but fitting perfectly against her pristine one. She has taken off all her jewelry for the night, being more or less ready to go to bed but having no intention to do so anytime soon. Aramis responds to the touch, responds to the smile. It's about the extent of affection they're allowing themselves to do for the moment. It feels nice. Comforting. It's as if he's courting her. Or she's courting him. Or best, as if they've lived together for so many years that they don't need words to convey their feelings. They're natural together. Their hearts speak for them. Loud and clear even in the silence.

"I would very much like to meet her officially. That day was so hazy."

"I've no doubt that such a meeting could be arranged. Constance will be more than glad to help."

"She's an angel for all of us, isn't she?"

"Absolutely."

Aramis will never forget everything that his friend has done for him, for the Queen, for the little boy.

"I'll send word in the morning," the Queen decides, sipping on her glass of sweet wine. It's turned warm from sitting near the candle. Night has set outside but the air is still so hot. Aramis' shirt sticks to his shoulders in places. It was too hot to keep his jacket on and in their intimacy -or the somewhat safe space they can call as such- he didn't need to remain in formal clothing.

Her fan gives a little air to her face and she dares not think how long it will take her to fall asleep in such heat. Thank God for distractions tonight. Aramis is reluctant to relinquish the soft fingers in his hand because they mean it's all real, even though it seems like he's walking and living in a dream. It's a stretch to reach the golden plate.

He makes a face after the first mouthful. He always does. The crystalline laugh coming from the Queen warms his heart.

"I don't think I'll ever like this."

"Chocolate is the most exquisite treat in the Kingdom, Aramis."

"I shall leave it to you then, my Queen."

He holds a piece to her mouth, watches transfixed as her lips close around the bitter dark chocolate. They touch the tip of his fingers as they do so and maybe he dreams the soft kiss to them which follows. The Queen closes her eyes, lets the marvel melt on her tongue. She still isn't used to the look of wonder on Aramis' face once her gaze focuses on him once more. It'd make her blush but she has decided that she wouldn't be ashamed of the reactions she could spark in him. It's meant to be.

Then there's a knock on the already open doors leading to the corridor and Aramis straightens in his seat, lets go on the Queen's hand. She misses it at once.

The guard merely bows before disappearing back in the darkness. Behind him, there's pattering and the governess bows as well, holding the King's hand.

"I beg your pardon, your Majesty. The King has requested to see you."

He's so small, even more so in his night clothes, his hair a little dishevelled but such a pretty shade of blond. Close to his mother's, blessed with his father's wild curls. He won't even need wigs when he'll be older. He'll be dashing as he is. As dashing as the man sitting by the Queen's side and who doesn't even stand up to acknowledge his King's presence in the room. These are the slips in decorum that no one will ever comment upon whenever they are in a private setting.

"You can go, thank you." The Queen waves the governess away, extends her hand to the small boy rubbing his eyes, trying not to yawn. Cloth ruffles before he's sitting on his mother's lap.

"What's the matter, darling?"

The boy looks at his mother at her question. Aramis hasn't said a word yet his presence isn't questioned. The child is growing used to him, growing used to seeing him with his mother, to see them talk and laugh together. Taking walks in the grounds, having dinner together. The King misses his father yet he's growing to like Aramis, to enjoy his company, his stories and jokes. He's younger than Tréville, who is missed as well, and they can go to see swords together in the armory. Aramis always speaks kindly to him, sweetly and he's not treating him like a child.

He may only be six, the King knows who he is, understands it very well, understands that he'll have the greatest responsibility of all later in life. He also understands what his mother and her First Minister are doing on his behalf. The specifics are lost in the child but the general basis, he comprehends.

So it's not a problem to find him with his mother at night. They're friends.

"It's too hot to sleep, Maman."

His brow is a little damp, the Queen realizes after she's felt it.

"Even with the windows open?"

"The birds sing."

"That they do," Aramis smiles. "Do you have to sleep with such heavy clothes on?"

"What if he catches a cold?" He hears the concern in the Queen's voice.

"He wouldn't. Not if he's safe under the blankets. They already make for a good protection."

She's still looking at him with doubt, one arm around her son's waist, keeping him close to her chest. The little boy's head is resting against her, one shoe slipping to the wooden floor. Tired eyes are gazing at him.

"I once knew a little girl who wouldn't sleep if she was wearing clothes during summertime."

The memory comes back all of a sudden, hitting Aramis with the force of all the love and affection he once bore for small children he still thinks about but who belongs to a former life. One he'll never forget but one he hardly has time to reflect on lately. Yet, it makes him smile fondly. His eyes light up with the pictures his mind conjures up.

"You have a daughter?" The innocent question coming from the child makes Aramis shake his head. Curls bounce around his face, rendering him more handsome than he already is, in spite of how curious his statement has made the Queen.

"So to speak. I...I wasn't always a Musketeer you see, Louis. For a few years, I used to live in a monastery and there were orphans living with us. Boys and girls whose parents had been killed in the war or who couldn't protect their children anymore. I was the one taking care of them. Teaching them about the Bible, teaching them how to read and write. Playing with them."

"You can be my teacher, too!"

"Soon, perhaps, yes. If you wish."

Aramis rejoices in these moments when he is allowed to speak freely to the boy, to act as if everybody knew what the King's actual parentage was. Carefree and loving. Affectionate and caring. A small family of sorts, Queen Anne looking at them both with pride and joy. She's listening intently to Aramis because she had never heard much about his time at the monastery. It was partly her fault if he went, gone to protect her, her son. To protect himself. It did no good in the end. Except that they may have grown more cautious with their surroundings. And that it strengthened their bound.

"The point is, they used to sleep in a dormitory by themselves, my own bed by the door. Some of them were menaces, running around at impossible hours and disturbing early morning prayers. It fell to me to make sure it didn't happen too often. That's how one day, I caught a running girl with no clothes on who had deemed it too warm in the room to sleep at all."

The King laughs out loud, the Queen chuckles at the story, trying to imagine Aramis first as a monk, which is somewhat impossible, and then Aramis chasing the child. This, she can picture more easily. She loves how his face shines with what he is telling them. Queen Anne can plainly see how much love he bears for these children who had somehow become his own through all the care he bestowed upon them.

Once he loves, Aramis loves fully and without restraints. It's pure and magical and she knows, because she's a recipient of such emotions. Ever since the convent all these years before, she's known how strongly he felt and yearned for family and children. It's been denied to him time and time again, even though he might have finally found it in a way. They'll never be conventional, they can never be, but it doesn't matter. What's important is that during his years away, Aramis didn't waste his love, didn't let it wither. She's glad less fortunate children were able to enjoy some of it.

"Caroline, that was her name, almost made it to the bottom of the stairs before I could catch her and wrap her in a blanket. How old was she? Three, perhaps? Running around barefoot. I was as afraid as you were that she would be sick but she turned out fine. As long as _you_ don't decide to run outside with no clothes on, Louis, you might be able to fall asleep tonight."

"Can I, Maman?"

"If Aramis assures us that it's harmless..."

"Or you could place a damp cloth on his brow. It helps, too."

"But then my hair is wet," the King protests, his small legs dangling in the air, his second shoe slipping off. He's only a child after all.

"In that case, let's take these clothes off your back. Say goodnight to Aramis, darling."

The Queen is on her feet, her son's hand clasped in hers because the governess might be waiting for them to return to the King's chambers, she is his mother first. She's been kept away from his care for long years in spite of how she battled to be included. So if she can take part in these ordinary tasks, she'll always seize the chance to do so.

"Goodnight, Aramis." The small boy waves to the man who has stood up as well, who has gathered his letter and is also ready to retire to his own quarters. The tender gesture makes Aramis smile even more. He's ever so thankful when he bows his head only a little, grabs the Queen's left hand to kiss the back of it.

"Sweet dreams, Louis. Goodnight, your Majesty."

Aramis leaves before them, in plain sight of the two guards. It started at a precaution so that there wouldn't be any rumors about the Queen, so close after the late King's death. They'll always be afraid that their relative peace and comfort could be broken by jealousy or people trying to undermine the power of Queen Anne. They're doing it for their son. As far as she's concerned, the Queen couldn't care less about what they think of her. They have always despised her, showing respect and deference but talking behind her back. It'll never change, but she won't fuel the fire. She's confident in her feelings, in what Aramis feels for her, what she means to him. It's more than sufficient.

Alone in his bedroom, larger than what he is used to, but the sheets far more comfortable than what he used to sleep in, either at the Garrison or in Douai, Aramis gives thanks for the brilliant day, the quiet evening, the unexpected visit which is still making his heart beat faster and which will definitely help _him_ sleep better tonight. He also gives thanks for all the wonderful memories brought back to the fore. All the children back in the countryside, all that they did together, their good deeds and mischiefs. The light and heart of the monastery. Nobody could have wished for better charges to brighten their days.

They have made his retreat more bearable. More than the prayers or the work or the silent companionship of the Brothers. They had filled Aramis' heart with more compassion and glee than he believed possible in a place of seclusion and worship. He loves them all, still. Those who came and left, those he left behind when he decided to come back to Paris with his brothers, his true brothers. Talking about Caroline has made him realize how full his days -and nights!- were thanks to them, how much the children had grown on his heart. How terrible it was to leave them behind.

But a soldier cannot take care of children as he used to be able to. They're better off in the care of the monks, safe from danger, lungs filled with fresh air, running in the fields, running after the cats or the rabbits, climbing trees to harvest fruit. Merry in their hardships, stronger in their cluster.


	2. Chapter 2

**PART II**

Once upon a time, Aramis used to be the one walking behind the King or walking behind the Cardinal or Rochefort or Tréville when he had taken the position of Minister. He was the soldier tasked with protecting one of the most important men in France. Whether he liked this man or not was of no importance. He did his duty nonetheless, along with his friends and fellow comrades, enduring the hours with all the strength he could muster. Walking the grounds in any of the royal Palaces was always a delight, though. So much green, so many trees and flowers. His mind and eyes were always sharp, looking for potential traps or enemies but he's always preferred it to staying indoors whenever it was raining. Having to keep watch behind closed windows in suffocating rooms wasn't the most enjoyable task to be assigned to.

Now, though, he's the one walking in front of the guards who follow him everywhere he goes. He would have asked for Musketeers but they've been assigned more important duties, protecting the city of Paris and its inhabitants. Besides, there are so few of them, regardless of how adamant d'Artagnan is to train as many as he can, to restore the splendor of the regiment and to serve his Queen and the country as best as he can. He is an admirable Captain, at ease and natural. Aramis has never worried about his friend's leadership qualities. His mind is at peace knowing all the good work the d'Artagnans are doing at the Garrison.

So Aramis makes do with the Palace guards that he's trying to treat with friendliness. They can't be his equals and yet, sometimes it is difficult to see past what he himself used to be. He'll always be a soldier, insists on carrying his sword at his side. It's a stark contrast from his regal clothes but he doesn't care. He knows the guards' names, knows where they come from, just like they know about the person they are supposed to be protecting. Aramis could protect himself but he's also aware the Queen would fight him if he ever decided to do without an escort.

Often, so engrossed that he is in missives and requests, Aramis forgets that he isn't alone. Strolling in the alleys, listening to the gardeners embellishing them, it helps him make sense of whatever situation has been thrust upon him. Nature helps him come up with solutions. It also helps him relax before or after a Council Meeting. He isn't fond of those yet it's a relief to see that his decisions are most of the time hardly questioned. That they are trusted by the other Members, that they have stopped doubting his qualities as a politician. Aramis might hesitate, he never does so in front of them. He has the Queen's support, forever and always. It's enough.

The gravel cracks under his heavy boots while he makes his way far from the stuffy Palace. He shouldn't crave solitude because he already gets too much of it on a daily basis, but how can one focus with all the bustling activity indoors?

Besides, being outdoors means that sometimes, there are chance encounters with the King and who could blame Aramis for looking forward to these?

The boy is playing in the grass with wooden toys scattered all around him. It'll soon be time for him to say goodbye to his governess to move on to the care of male instructors but for the time being, he's happy to be a small child almost like others: playing and laughing. Jumping to his feet at the sight of Aramis rounding a hedge.

"Come play with me, Aramis!" the boy requests after people have bowed to him. His cheeks are flushed a bright red.

"I have much work to do, your Majesty. But I'll be delighted to do so later on. We can go and try on new swords."

"Maman doesn't like this."

"Then we shall not tell her."

The boyish laughter sparks a similar response in his governess, in Aramis and even the guards do smile. They may be guarding the most important and valuable person in the Kingdom, no one can deny that he is still a child, free of any worries or state business. Aramis wishes it could always stay this way, that he could always carry the heavy burden that is one day bound to rest on his son's shoulders. He does intend to be always around to lessen it as much as he is allowed.

"Why not go ask your mother to play with you for now?" Aramis suggests. He's witnessed the Queen do so in multiple occasions. The glow on her face was unmistakable. It might be her favorite activity. Aramis knows because it is definitely his.

The child makes a face, highly against royal upbringing but Aramis wouldn't dare tell him to stop. It fills his heart with exceptional joy.

"Maman is with Madame d'Artagnan and another lady."

"It must be the General's wife."

"She has a baby." The boy makes another face. "She was crying."

"The General's wife?"

"No, Aramis! The baby!" There's another round of laughter, the King shaking his head because Aramis' question was silly.

The Queen hasn't lost any time getting in touch with Elodie. It's only been two days since they talked about it over Porthos' letter. Aramis already knows what he'll be writing tonight. Besides, knowing Elodie, his friend will probably receive two rather identical letters very soon. Aramis is glad the Queen has made good on her promise, that Elodie is being included. Her husband is someone so important now, even more than he used to be. Aramis is prouder of Porthos than he is of d'Artagnan. Worried, too, because he's at war and anything can happen. He trusts Porthos' endurance and will to stay alive to come back soon unharmed. He has a child to love to pieces now.

"And she is so small I can't even play with her," the boy goes on, explaining what is happening inside the Palace. He's also pouting a bit, gesturing to his toys in the grass. "Won't you play with me, Aramis? Even for a little while?"

Aramis looks down at all the papers in his hand, the ones which are rather urgent and indeed does require either an immediate reply or an audience. On the other hand, he recognizes the constant request from the King as being the opposite of a whim, or the spur of the moment. It's nothing like the time when he demanded a second pony because he believed his was sad by itself and the suggestion was denied. There was much shouting and doors banging that day, the Queen standing her ground against the petulant behavior of a boy who supposed that being King meant he could get whatever he wanted. Not at six years old. Not on her watch.

Today, the child is lonely. He has no friend his age to play with, always his governess. Not even the guards are allowed to join him, no matter how much he begs them. They have orders coming from higher up to not give in. But Aramis is different. Aramis has only the Queen above him. And she's busy with her friend and being acquainted with Elodie. What are some supply requests or petty land disputes compared to his son's eagerness for some friendship and company?

"If your Majesty wishes so." Aramis bows, dislikes it a little. He's never liked bowing. To anyone. He also cringes whenever he hears himself call his son so formally but it's for the greater good. As long as he gets to address him as "Louis" in private, he can utter these two majestic words in public.

It's worth it to see the boy clasp his hands and grab his hand to drag him to the blanket taking so much of the grass. Aramis orders the governess away, to a nearby bench where she sits to wait with a book. He sits down, free of all the papers entrusted to one of the soldiers spreading out in the alley around them. The child pays no attention to them.

"Tell me another story about your children, Aramis."

"Do you mean the children from the monastery?"

The King nods eagerly, clutches a steel toy horse, curls on his face that Aramis doesn't dare touch. He's beautiful as he is, even with hair hiding eyes as blue as the Queen's. Aramis would probably cry from joy at being given the chance to spend so much time with a boy he's tried and failed to avoid for years. A boy who was partly responsible for him meeting all his charges in Douai. For this at least, Aramis is grateful he one day resigned his commission.

His heart swells that the boy remembered the story, that he understood how important and dear to him the orphans used to be. They still are. Talking about them actually prompted Aramis to send a letter to the new abbot to inquire about everyone's well-being. He should have done so ages ago. Life was too busy and led him to set everything else aside. Aramis is a little ashamed about his lack of caring for his former brothers and charges ever since he came back to Paris.

Lost in his reflections, he's shaken out of them by the King's renewed request. His voice so cultured for someone so small. Aramis' fond eyes land on him and his expectant look.

"There was also a boy named Pierre, with hair just like yours, except it was black."

"Like yours, then, Aramis."

"Yes. Curlier perhaps. And the girls loved to pin him down and try new hairstyles on him. They would try to brush the curls away or tie it down."

The boy giggles, touches his own hair, too short to be tamed.

"So one day, I found him with scissors in hand, halfway through cutting his hair because he couldn't take it anymore."

Aramis' heart bleeds at this particular memory. The haircut was so uneven that they never managed to give him a proper one. They only had to wait for the hair to grow back and afterwards, Aramis was the one cutting it for Pierre. Just like he cut it for the girls. He also was the one braiding theirs, tying it up, making whatever hairdo took their fancy when it was quiet, they had finished their work and they could pretend they were ladies. And Aramis was their maid.

"I have someone who cuts my hair for me," the King chimes in, listening to the story yet enthusiastic to share some of his own.

"You are very lucky. I was the one doing it for them, you know."

"Perhaps you can do it for me."

"I'm your Minister, your Majesty. I'm afraid I wouldn't do a good job."

"You're my friend, too."

The unexpected declaration freezes Aramis' smile on his lips. His breath catches in his throat with the innocence of the words. The boy has no idea the impact they have on the man. How powerful and appreciated they are. This time, Aramis does fight to keep from crying. His instincts tell him to reach down and give the child a kiss. Which he cannot do. So he reaches for another toy, makes it fight against the King's toy, supplies military terms for the makeshift battle of sorts unfolding right in their hands.

Then bells ring somewhere in the distance, marking how much time has passed since Aramis has decided to discard his obligations to indulge in some time with his son. The happy thoughts will be enough to sustain him through the day should he not see the boy again.

"If you'll excuse me, I have to go write some very important letters."

Aramis straightens his clothes, gathers the sword left by the side. The child follows his lead, stands up still holding a toy.

"I come with you."

"If you wish."

Aramis can't hold his hand, but he also doesn't wait for the governess to realize her royal charge has deserted his playground. He can't hide his smile, how much his heart swells at how effortless his relationship with the King is. It'll never be the same as being his father in plain sight, because this position had already been taken, which is for the best, but it's so much better than Aramis would have ever imagined.

He may not get to be called Papa, he's loved and cherished. He's becoming so important in his son's life. A friend, a mentor he hopes. A father figure in all but the actual term. Which is exactly the thought that the Queen is having watching them both come back to the Palace. They belong together and Aramis as a Minister will always be better than Aramis as a soldier to protect her son. He might have declined the position at first, finding it unwise, he'll accept anything for her and their boy. And she does believe that he is liking it more every day.

The Queen often saw how the late King spoiled the little boy, although he may have fully known it wasn't his by blood. It never stopped him. It wasn't her son's fault and it would have killed her to have him punished for the mistakes she made before he was conceived. The Queen despises thinking of it as a mistake when it's brought so much joy in her life. Her girlish infatuation had turned into actual craving for love and affection after her night with Aramis and if it has led to today, she will never, ever resent it or apologize for it. She never did.

There is so much she won't apologize for, as well. She won't apologize for behaving more like a gentle mother than a Queen most of the time. She has to be strong for her son, but he has saved her from a miserable and terrifying life. He has filled her days with cheerful laughter and delight, exactly like his father did. Does.

She won't apologize for time spent alone with Aramis, be it in her quarters or out in the grounds. It may be fall, the weather is mild enough for them to take strolls outside, just like he did a few days beforehand with the King. Her ladies-in-waiting and the guards are far enough behind to grant them privacy and they have the excuse of pretending to discuss matters of state. Whenever she walked with the late King, her mind was churning with what he would blame her for this time, or whatever flaw he would find in her. They never did anything just the two of them to enjoy each other's company. Their relationship wasn't supposed to exist for this purpose.

Thank God for Aramis. As long as she dedicates time to rule the country, to take care of her subjects, to ensure their peace and protection, she is also allowed some happiness of her own. As a woman. Not solely a Queen. She can be both. And once she'll be free from her mourning clothes, she hopes she'll be allowed more.

Aramis is wiser than she already assumed, his conversation always a pleasure and when they argue, it's healthy and constructive. It makes her skin tingle because his soul is as beautiful as his face.

"Are you listening to me, your Majesty?"

Aramis' deep voice startles her a little. She hears the undertone of "my Majesty" in his words. That's how he addresses her sometimes in private. A term of endearment she cherishes and for that, Aramis doesn't mind calling her this in public when he has to. She's Queen of his life, she has been for long years even when he tried desperately to keep the feelings at bay.

"I apologize, I wasn't."

"Is something troubling you?"

She is quick to erase the frown setting on her companion's face.

"I was simply thinking how wonderful it is to be able to walk with you."

Aramis rejoices in her sincere smile, how she shifts closer to him so that her skirt brushes his leg every once in a while. He's thankful her hand is full of the flowers she picked in the garden a few minutes earlier or he would have had difficulties not reaching out for it.

"We are blessed with incredible weather this season."

"Indeed. Blessed with much more. My son is quite enthralled by your stories about the monastery. He's only been talking about them today."

"I'm happy to share them with him."

 _I'm happy to spend any moment I can with him. Doing anything._

They're expert at understanding hidden meaning in their sentences. It's like they are speaking a secret language. Because speaking Spanish is something they rarely resort to. Especially not when they aren't completely alone.

"You hardly ever talk about the years you lived in Douai." The Queen's voice is quieter this time. It isn't a reproach, merely an observation. It's true: he doesn't.

"They are between God and I."

"I understand. I'm always so elated to learn about your previous life, that's all. I shouldn't have asked."

"No! I mean...I'll always reflect fondly on them. I was happy there, I think. At the time, I believed I was. I was busy and praying was a comfort. It still is."

The Queen is aware. Sometimes they pray together. Aramis always uses the crucifix she gifted him the very first time he saved her life. It sounds like a lifetime ago. Another life, indeed.

"I could never find peace of heart, though. It was as if I was missing something." _Someone_. Several someones.

"You never told me about the children. How many were there?"

"It constantly changed. There were seven when I left. They were incredible in spite of how much work they were at times."

"I can imagine. Poor souls, orphaned or abandoned because of this terrible war. I'm relieved they had you."

Queen Anne briefly puts her hand on Aramis' arm, the gesture too swift to leave but the imprint of the soft touch on the fabric of his jacket. It leaves much more on his heart. Aramis adds it to all the proof of love he's being given each day. It's as close to being married as it can be. Trust and care and fondness in every way possible.

"They were a wild bunch. I...I told them stories about you and the Musketeers."

"Did you?" She looks at him with renewed interest, sitting on a bench by the closed doors of the Palace. The ladies are dismissed, the guards go to stand watch and for a moment, they are safe from any eavesdropping. Aramis sits closer to her than he would have dared before.

"I do confess there were more stories about Porthos and Athos but there were some about a very strong and powerful lady." It wasn't helpful in forgetting his passion for the Queen but Aramis believed that he was safe from harming her at the monastery so he found comfort in his tales.

"Were they rather embellished?"

"Porthos might have been taller than he is. The rest was quite accurate. Athos always mumbled a lot. Marie would try to imitate the sounds."

The Queen laughs out loud, a pleasant sound. Aramis chuckles, dips his head and catches the softness in her eyes. Her hand rests between them on the bench, the flowers splayed on her lap. Aramis can feel the tips of the fingers against his waist. It's how much they'll allow themselves to go. But for someone who has been shunned from physical contact and bliss for the better part of her life, the Queen won't demand too much too soon.

"How are they?"

"I don't know. I sent a few letters when I first joined the Regiment again last year and back then, the brothers said everybody was fine. I sent another letter only yesterday. I should have kept in touch more."

"We have all gone through so much in the past year, Aramis. Don't blame yourself for it. You've reached out again, haven't you?"

"I have. And I hope the response won't take long. Some days, I miss them. Which is why I'm content your son enjoys the stories. It allows me to be closer to them, even if only in spirit."

"He's been asking when he could play with many children like yours did."

The statement jostles something which has been bothering Aramis even before he was Minister, when he was a simple Musketeer trying to avoid putting the Queen or the Dauphin in danger. It hasn't changed today. He cannot understand why there is no one the King's age to play with him. He has no one but his governess. Adults who are all aware of who he is, what he will be when he comes of age. They can never be truly free of movement and thought when they are with the child.

Which explains the request for Aramis to play with him, for d'Artagnan and Constance whenever they visit. He's known these people more than the courtiers milling about in the various Palaces they live in.

They cannot replace the companionship of other children.

"It might do him some good to play with people his own age," Aramis hazards. He won't inquire why it never happened. A King can't be shielded from the world, regardless of his age. "Would you like me to inquire about courtiers who would have children young enough to be his companions?"

"Actually, Aramis, I had another idea. If you don't mind. It's almost winter and it must be very cold in the countryside, especially for your children."

"There are large fires in the monastery and I can assure you nobody ever slept naked during the cold months."

Aramis chuckles at his own jest, the beginning of the Queen's plan weaving its way to his heart. His smile grows bigger and brighter as it unfolds in front of his eyes.

"Nevertheless. The monks and yourself have done such a remarkable job caring for them when it wasn't your primary objective."

"We've always aimed at helping our fellow brothers and sisters, your Majesty."

"For which we'll never thank you enough." She cannot forget how the nuns protected her, not once, but twice in her life. "Seven children is a lot. There might be more coming and I doubt the monastery would have enough resources to feed or host them all. Without speaking of all the other monasteries or convents across the country which might be in the same dire situation."

"What are you suggesting?"

"A place here in Paris, funded by the Crown where we could shelter orphans from the war. A place like the refugee camps but for boys and girls with no one to look after them. I did say that I would protect the people and make them feel valued. I see no better way than to help children who do not benefit from the same privileges as my own son."

"This is a fantastic idea."

It will mean finding a building big enough, people to manage it. Those material concerns are nothing for the Queen, she has no doubt that Constance has connections and acquaintances in Paris to fulfill such a task. The honesty shining in Aramis' eyes comforts her although she did not fear his reaction for a second. Not on this. Aramis has always had a soft spot for any children he came across.

A strong country needs strong and healthy new generations. The Queen won't let them go to waste for a war started by her brother and her late husband.

"Your children could come to Paris if they wanted," Queen Anne adds.

"It would make me very happy to see them again."

"I supposed so. Only if they want to, of course. I don't want to tear them away from Douai if they wish to stay there."

"You are like a mother to the entire Kingdom, your Majesty."

This makes her laugh out loud, the cheekiness that she's always enjoyed finding its way even in serious conversations.

"I'm also a mother thinking that a future King cannot always stay with aristocrats to understand the people he will have to rule over in the future. I would love to invite your children to the Palace to play with Louis. If that's fine with you."

"They are mine only in my heart, Majesty. Although I can safely assure you that they will love having a new companion to play with. This is a very wise plan, might I add. Very beneficial for your son."

He says it so fast sometimes she chooses to hear "our son." She couldn't be prouder and happier about this.

It pleases her to have his support. Aramis has never seen her sad that her husband had died except from that very day when the late King passed away. And even then, she might only have been concerned with her son's safety. She certainly doesn't look sad right now. Her eyes sparkle and all the black in her hair and on her clothes only helps to make her beauty stand out. It makes her blond hair shine in contrast. The rich fabric rustles on her arms, shimmers in the fainting light of late afternoon.

Aramis can't say she is sad. She has never been happier than since she took over the position as Regent, the one that was always hers to begin with. She's blooming in her new role and her newly acquired freedom. She might have been envied for her position and her jewelry, her beauty and her privileges in the past, she's never been as lucky as when she's finally been able to take decisions of her own. To decide who was going to help shape her son into a magnificent and compassionate King. The children will help do this, as well.

They will also help Aramis feel better -if that's possible- than he is already. He stays in his office that night, too busy with the work he has to do now. Letters to write to so many people. Good news to send to Douai and one edit which will then be copied and sent throughout France to any places where children might be too many to handle well.

Although Aramis does miss Athos and Porthos and he cannot wait for the former to decide to visit and the latter to be called back even for a little while, he also misses the children. More now that he is asked to talk about them almost on a daily basis. More now that the King has been told that he may be joined by new companions to play with soon.

Aramis will never be called Papa, but it doesn't mean he doesn't act like one for many little people in his life.


	3. Chapter 3

I made up most of the children's names. I tried to keep them classic.

* * *

 **PART III**

The ride north seems to take longer than it did when Aramis had to do it on horseback. Perhaps because then his heart was heavy with everything that had happened in Paris because of Rochefort. His heart had cried for the lives lost and those he had almost destroyed. It cried for the brothers he had to abandon for their own good, it cried for all the adventures and danger he would miss. But it was safer that way. He couldn't wait to be in Douai to put what he wanted to be an old life behind. The ride had been very short on that September day.

The ride back during the war with his three friends safe by his side had gone by so swiftly that Aramis had never seen it pass. Perhaps because his mind was swirling with the monastic life he was abandoning, the children he had to leave in the care of the monks. His heart rejoiced at being in the company of men he loved more than friends. It rejoiced at having his true family back. It worried about the royal household and the problems it might bring, but the excitement of being soon a Musketeer again had overpowered it all.

So it may be that traveling in a carriage is so new to him that it appears to drag on. It's cold, though, in the dead of winter that Aramis is somehow glad he doesn't have to ride a horse this time. He prays a lot throughout the long hours, giving thanks for everything they have accomplished for the orphans of the country. Finding them a place to live in the city, finding women, nuns delighted to care for them. Widows and wives with husbands away at war or for their trade happy to answer the Queen's call and provide affection, clothing and bedding to help those poor little ones.

It's still very much a work in progress because how can you avoid parents sending their children there as well when they would be perfectly fine at home? The rations of food provided by the Crown to most of the population are a better way to bankrupt the Treasury than to fund some new castles for ungrateful aristocrats. Aramis and the Council will never allow it to reach such dramatic ends, though, but the Queen has been vigorous in her determination that past mistakes shouldn't be made. Making the people hungry and resentful is the surest way to spark a rebellion.

How could they when so many good deeds are done for them? It'll never be enough so long as the war hasn't come to a close, but Porthos has told Aramis that the Spanish seemed to be growing tired of fighting. He is as well, yet he'll never stop until his country, his King and his family are safe. He _is_ going to stop for Christmas, at Aramis' urgent demand for his friend to be back in Paris to celebrate with Elodie and Marie-Cessette. It'll be a shock to see how much she's grown. How she laughs and clasps her hands, what a delight she is with her mother, or with Constance and the Queen when they gather for coffee and cakes at the Palace.

Elodie isn't used to the money she receives every month. Why send Porthos' wages to the front when someone can use them in Paris? Truth be told, Aramis isn't used to the one put at his disposal either. It's overwhelming for both of them, and they always laugh about it whenever they are together. It happens more frequently now that Aramis is better used to his position at First Minister, that he has understood the basics of the job and what is expected of him. They are a family of friends, Elodie, Constance, d'Artagnan and the little girl. Hopefully more children soon. All those that Aramis cannot have or claim for himself, he wishes on the people he loves dearly.

He's content to love them all, be them his own, safe and warm in his Palace in Paris, probably harassing his governess to go outside. The King has a new fur coat which is so big on him it almost makes the boy disappear in the bulk of it all. Or be them adopted ones that Aramis cannot wait to see again. He's managed to tame his impatience while he was in Paris or on the road, but catching glimpses of the monastery through the powdery trees has made him grow restless.

There is no anxiety once they pass through the gates. This time, he comes with a light heart and good news for everyone. He isn't seeking forgiveness or redemption. He's the bearer of hope and joy, which is only heightened by the special time of the year. The children used to be more excited around Christmas, begging for cakes that they would help make in the kitchens or for holly they would go pick in the woods to decorate the chapel. They would request more stories huddled in front of the fire to dry their shoes and clothes. The cold never bothered anyone in Douai. Not when Aramis would tell tales of the past, or when one of the brothers would tell a Biblical story to entertain the children.

It's snowing lightly, the sky grey going dark even though Aramis doesn't suppose it's later than noon yet. He's left the day before, enjoyed the hospitality of some Count on the road but it will never beat the warmth of the welcome he receives at the monastery.

It seems that the entire congregation has gathered in the courtyard in spite of the blasting wind and the freezing snow. The new abbot is here to greet him with a decorum that Aramis is also growing used to. Which mainly means that he tunes out during this part of conversations. It'll never cease to make him uncomfortable otherwise.

"Come this way, Minister. We have prepared a room with a fire for your convenience."

"Please, Mathieu, I'm still Aramis," he urges the monk who was in the process of showing him the way in, as if Aramis didn't already know it. He's recognized most of his former brothers, men he knew by name and appreciated immensely, either for their strength of heart or devotion, their courage in adversity and the selflessness of their souls and beings.

"We used to sleep next to each other not so long ago. Have you forgotten?"

"I haven't. You're simply different now."

"Only in appearance. I'm still the same man underneath." He hopes. It draws a smile from the monk and the ones close by and soon, Aramis is relieved to see that they may be thrown back by the escort, they grow friendlier to him. He's surrounded by them by the time they are sheltered from the weather.

It doesn't feel like being home, because Aramis has found his home someplace else, yet it feels strangely nice to be back in the common room and to be able to sit at a table with all the monks who appear to have abandoned their current tasks to bless their visitor with their company.

They speak more than Aramis has ever heard them do, inquiring about his new life, about the churches in Paris or the ones he's seen on the road. If he has news of some other brothers out in the world. Away from the Palace and from politics, Aramis can breathe better than he's done in the past months. Half a year since he's become First Minister. No hierarchy here because he outranks them all and he's decided that in a place of God, he should be their equals.

"We were delighted by your letter," the abbot eventually manages to say after the assembly has somewhat calmed down, wine in their cups, all sitting on benches. Candles everywhere to light up the room bare of any decoration except for a cross and a statue of Saint Benoît, the patron saint of the monastery.

"It is such a wonderful project that her Majesty has had. And we cannot thank you enough for all the food which has reached us last month. We do grow most of our own here as you well know, but the villagers were more than grateful to benefit from it."

Aramis bows his head, humble. He won't take the credit, none of it is his idea.

"We love the children, but more and more are coming every week and the brothers and I seem to lack the natural qualities you had to take care of them. We unfortunately lost a couple in the spring. Along with some of our brothers. New souls who only had been there for a few weeks and the sickness came so fast we were afraid the entire community would succumb to it."

For a minute, Aramis is speechless, unable to offer the mere condolences he should. He had never known these poor children but he is pretty certain the monks who passed used to live with him. His heart aches for all of them. Everyone around him is silent as well, lost in prayers and Aramis cannot make eye contact with anyone. They may have gone to Heavens with God, it's always a terrible loss to bid farewell to brothers and innocent children.

He's almost afraid to ask if any of the boys and girls he used to take care of have died since he left. This time he probably wouldn't be able to refrain from crying. Hopefully all are well.

"Have you asked the others what they wanted?" Aramis manages to ask. Diseases cannot be helped but relieving the abbot of some of the little charges could help him run a stronger monastery on the long term.

"We have. For the time being, they only want to see you. I believe they are down in the kitchen with Brother Antoine, baking you something special."

"We had to ration our intake of apples to be able to make a cake worthy of you," Mathieu adds. Most of his companions nod, but none look disappointed by the sacrifice.

It's not long indeed before the sound of a stampede reaches them. It grows louder and louder as the children climb up the stairs and then Aramis finds himself assaulted by deafening shouts and squeals, a cacophony of noises which should not belong in a quiet place like a monastery.

Nobody rebukes anyone. Aramis is overwhelmed by the hugs, by the tiny fingers tugging on his clothes, by the hands reaching up to be pulled onto his lap. Faces which used to be small and chubby have grown.

Some things never change, though, as two hands pull on his hair to use it as leverage to lean forward and plant a kiss on his cheek. Marie receives a long hug for her troubles. Nothing can be painful, overshadowed by how emotional Aramis feels at the reunion. They are all so merry to see him again after such a long time. They all look well. That's such an immense relief that Aramis forgets everything else to gaze at them.

Pierre's hair is as long as Aramis' used to be before moving into the Palace. It's tied tight in a ponytail. He's also almost as tall as some brothers. A few years short of a man. André's hat finally fits him. He never takes it off even when he is inside. Aramis discovers this later in the afternoon when they are eating the treats and the boy is sitting by his side. His grins haven't changed, he is still looking at the man as if he were the mightiest one in the world. With awe and admiration.

Marie's mischievous ways haven't lessened with the years. She's outgrown her clothes and Aramis has no idea who sewed her new skirts but they are a patchwork of colors. Enough to light a room on their own. Elise has a new ragged doll that she pushes into his face as soon as she can claim half of his lap. She's bigger than what he is used to, her face as dirty as it used to be. She's never been one for cleaning up. Angélique is still quiet, waiting for her turn to be kissed and asked how she is.

There are two new faces, two little boys so small they look like they have barely learned how to speak. Too thin for their own good, fidgeting by the side, waiting to be acknowledged by this stranger in their midst. Marie seems to have assumed the leading position, beckoning them closer.

"They are brothers," she explains to Aramis once they dare come near. "They've been here since the summer." Aramis smiles kindly at them, tells them how pleased he is to make their acquaintance and then asks them if they have already suffered from the girls' mischiefs. The monks answer for the children, which sparks a long list of the deeds, good or otherwise which have blessed the monastery.

Aramis hardly remembers it being so frantic when he used to live on the premises. They don't appear to mind the disturbance, although some of the elderly monks look quite tired from the shrills and the raucous while the children share their cake with Aramis. It's simple in its taste, better than all the rich food filling his stomach at the Palace.

"Have you finally tired Luc enough that he's left?"

"No! He's with the cows," Elise says, dabbing her finger on the table to gather crumbs.

"He's milking them. A couple of farmers asked for him to help them but he wouldn't abandon us after you returned to a civil life," the abbot supplies. There is no reproach in his voice whatsoever. He wasn't even there when Aramis left. It settles his heart that the young boy who was so fierceful in going to fight and defend his country has decided to cling to the brothers and the children.

"Is Adèle with him?" In spite of rejoicing at being surrounded by his former charges and in falling back into old habits, Aramis has had to notice the ones missing.

"Adèle is working at an inn in Courchelettes. They were in dire need of help and you know what a kind heart she's always had," Mathieu tells Aramis. The young girl might not have talked much with words, her actions spoke volume. She always did twice the work the other children did. "You might actually have ridden past the hostel on your way here."

"If that is so, I'll make sure to halt on the ride back. Is she happy?"

"She is. She comes for Sunday Mass. They play in the fields with her." The abbot motions at the flock of children swarming around the table, trying to drag Aramis to his feet to show them what has changed in their shared bedroom, or the new animals the monks have acquired to provide for their sustenance.

"We'll go in a moment," he promises. He's close to forgetting the actual reason for his visit. He's back to being a simple man tasked with caring and teaching these children, tasked with taming whims and wild spirits. Which Aramis could never bring himself to do. Their spirits was what was the most wonderful about them. Happy souls.

"Do you know why I'm here?" Seven heads nod, listening intently. "I live in Paris now. I work for the King. He's about...your age, Angélique. And the Queen wants all children who desire it to come with me to the city. You'll have a new house with people there to teach you and provide a good life for you."

"Will you live with us like before?" André asks, cocking his head.

"I will not. I live in the Palace. But we'll see each other more often. I'll come see you and you'll come see me, too," Aramis adds quickly to soften the blow of them not sharing a room anymore.

"Will we stay together? All of us?" Angélique inquires. Her arms are around the two new boys' shoulders. She must have taken over Adèle's position to look after the little ones.

"I give you my word. No one will separate you unless one of you wants to go their separate way. You can also stay here if you wishes."

"But you're in Paris," Marie stresses.

"I am."

"Then I'm going with you."

Her statement is enough to trigger more positive reactions from the others. Even the latest additions to the company eventually decide likewise, frightened that they may lose their friends.

That settles it, the monks thanking Heavens for this new opportunity for the children, and then going back to more immediate matters. Because with the little hands gone, there'll be less help to tend the vegetable patch, the orchard and the animals. Until they are reminded that the war isn't stopping because Aramis is taking the children to the city and that more may come sooner or later. The same offer will be granted to them as long as there is room in the newly opened establishment. The Queen has recently mentioned building some more either in Paris or in larger towns. There'll always be a place for poor helpless children looking for a better life, of that she will make sure.

Gathering the children's belonging doesn't take long, but they do not do it at once because Aramis kindly requested to spend the night. The monastery makes him feel at peace. He feels lighter in a place where God is everywhere. He wants to join in prayers and Mass again. He wants to share frugal meals and help in whatever way he can. If only for a few hours.

He's welcome in the clinic to tend to the poor monk who has sprained his ankle slipping on a patch of ice the day before and to the new child, another girl with a terrible cough who will not be able to travel back with them. There isn't much he can do for her except help the Brother make more decoctions.

Aramis comes out of vespers and complines with such a fresh heart, such love and thankfulness for everything that God has bestowed upon him that for a couple of seconds, he wouldn't mind staying at the monastery longer than a mere day.

He should come more often. He isn't a soldier anymore, and the Royal Council might be able to spare his presence for a few days every year. Surely, they would not object to a spiritual retreat, even though the First Minister's attendance is crucial. The Queen certainly wouldn't. She has herself expressed the wish to visit the convent which used to be her refuge. They all need God's help.

So Aramis makes this promise to the abbot and his former fellow brothers in the morning when they are saying farewell. The children are clearly excited, staring at the guards with wonder. All but Luc who had decided to join Aramis before the question was even asked. He's looking forward to spending the following day and a half with soldiers and to be able to inquire how much as he can about their trade.

Nobody sheds a tear, because the men of God are full of joy to see their charges go on to their new adventure. Aramis is less so after so many hours in a closed space with most of the children. They are too many to fit in only one carriage so they came with two and they want to take turns to sit with Aramis. He's run out of his stories about the Musketeers and the King by nightfall. They had the respite of visiting Adèle on the road and of sharing a light meal with her. Her embrace spoke more than the short words she uttered during their stay at the inn. Aramis could see for himself that she was indeed happy and it was enough.

"You're a politician now," Luc states at night when they have gathered inside the manor of some Baron rather annoyed to have to provide food for so many hungry mouths. He wouldn't have dared say no to the First Minister of France. These are the perks of the position that Aramis is grateful for. No more bargaining or begging for shelter and food.

He's staying with his charges in a large bedroom, blankets spread on the floor by the open fire. Everyone is sleeping, the two young boys, Paul and Marc, snuggled under each of Aramis' arms. From what he's been explained by the girls, they've lost their parents to bandits even fiercer than the ones who attacked the monastery and they were literally dropped in front of the gates by neighbors. Which explains how fearful they used to be and how desperate for love and closeness they were once they've realized that Aramis wouldn't hurt them. They are warm and their breathing is steady against his shirt. Aramis loves them already. Tiny and defenseless, lost in the immense world. It's a wonder they've survived. He'll make sure they have the most fantastic of life.

"I am," he answers Luc's unspoken question. The clothes and the demeanor he's had to assume when requesting, or rather requisitioning the house for the night, would have given away even if Luc hadn't already been aware of the new development. "I'm still a Musketeer, though."

"You're so many things, Aramis. A monk and a nanny and then a Musketeer and now a Minister. When will you stop?"

It's friendly banter tonight. Aramis shakes his head. He's relieved his new status has changed nothing as far as the children are concerned. He's still the same man whose hair they used to braid and that they would make run in circles in fields whenever he had to round them to come back to the monastery.

"Do you want to be a soldier again? Or has your mind not changed since the attack?"

The boy is older now, sixteen or seventeen perhaps, old for the monastery anyway. They're more on an equal footing since he's discovered that Aramis wasn't the pitiful man of God Luc had always believed him to be. Being almost killed by one of Grimaud's men seemed to have dimmed his excitement about war and fighting. But that was almost two years ago.

"Would you let me?"

"You're not my charge anymore. And I've done my fair share of killing since leaving the monastery. It's necessary sometimes to bring peace. It all depends what you're fighting for. And you did want to fight the Spanish."

"I still do."

"Do you remember d'Artagnan?"

"He's one of the Musketeers who came to rescue us, yes."

"He's Captain of the Musketeers now. He's always recruiting Cadets to replenish the ranks. You'd make a valuable contribution to the regiment."

The last time Aramis saw such a look of pure ecstasy on the boy's face it was when he met Porthos, Athos and d'Artagnan in the cellars, realizing that the stories were true. He's staring at Aramis with the same expression right now.

A child mumbles behind Luc, stretches and bumps into him. He shift closer to Aramis, definitely interested.

"You'd recommend me?"

"At least I'd know where you'd be. And I could keep an eye on you."

Luc stands taller, puffs out his chest because he's not a baby anymore, in spite of how fatherly Aramis insists on acting. Luc will be too old for the institution the Queen has set up. He hasn't been trained in any trade having no father or uncle to guide him on this path. Aramis couldn't bear knowing him roaming the streets of Paris. He'll never encourage anyone to kill for a living. But if it is to protect others, then that's exactly what Aramis himself has done his entire life. He's confessed time and time again that killing did bring some pleasure that he wasn't particularly proud of, but what can he do about that? He firmly believes God put him on Earth for this purpose.

"It'll be difficult, though," he warns Luc, pointing one finger at him. Marc's head falls almost on his lap.

"You did it so it must not be so hard," Luc jokes, grinning cheekily. It leaves Aramis dumbfounded, unable to come up with a smart reply. For these few days, it does seem like he is back to his old self, either as a monk or a soldier and that he has been stripped of all the heavy responsibilities he carries in Paris. Having the children around helps. He already knows that he'll dedicate so much of his time to them when they'll be settled in the city.

For the rest of the ride, Luc is unstoppable about all the feats he'll accomplish at the Garrison. He already sees himself with a pauldron strapped to his shoulder, in a shining leather uniform defending the King and Queen. He's like Aramis when he was a fresh recruit, eager to fight and experience the thrill of danger. Or like Porthos determined to prove his worth. Or like d'Artagnan, hot-headed and ready to jump into action without thinking twice about the consequences.

The girls have already given him the title of their official Protector, until they draw near the outskirts of the bustling city and they fall silent, staring out of the carriage to admire all these novelties. All the noise and the people, such a great contrast from their quiet life in Douai. Because of this, they are glad to huddle in a clean room in their new home, to meet their new carers and all the other children already living in the building. It's well-heated, the beds look comfortable, there is plenty of linens to fight the cold.

Reluctantly, Aramis become the First Minister of France once more, looking sternly everywhere, listening respectfully to the people around him, looking for any problems that would make the children's stay less bearable than it should be. Although he acts serious and with the demeanor which is expected, he cannot help but gather the children around him while he is there. He hugs them, carries Paul around while they visit the courtyard and the kitchens. As far as he is concerned, being a Minister doesn't presuppose that he should be cold and distant. Far from it.

He's Aramis first. He can make severe and hard decisions, stand his ground to Council Members and shout to have his voice heard. He can also be soft-hearted and tender with people who need it. There have always been these two sides to Aramis even when he was a soldier so he's content to be able to retain this compassionate aspect of his personality. He can also tell that it is appreciated by the people he encounters at the orphanage. He'll be a Minister close to the inhabitants of Paris and of the entire Kingdom because he used to be like them. Simple and poor and struggling to find his place in the great scheme of things.

For now, even though he hates saying goodbye, he's also eager to go back to the Palace. He leaves on the promise that they'll see each other in the upcoming days and that he will most certainly come by the Garrison in the morning to make sure that Luc hasn't gotten on Contance's bad list over the short hours he's lived there.

Aramis finds the Queen reading in her apartments before supper. Thank God she has sent her ladies away when she notices his presence in the doorway. The way her entire face lights up is a sight to behold. Her cheeks grow brighter and her eyes twinkle with delight. She forgets to mark her page as the book is discarded to the table.

"I'm so happy you are back," she says in a hurry, closing her eyes at the lips kissing the back of her hand, at the strong grip Aramis has on it. One he doesn't relinquish after he's greeted her as well. She's standing closer than ought to be proper but Queen Anne has no worry about decorum. Almost fours entire days without seeing him is an outrage. She had supposed she was missing him but given how her heart beats faster and how the words she desperately wants to add are stuck in her throat, constricted with emotions, it turns out that his absence affected her a lot more than expected.

"I'll always be back, your Majesty."

Aramis bows down to kiss her hand once more, enclosing hers in his, keeping her so close that she has to hold on to his arm to remain upright. She's standing as close as she can, breathing perhaps more heavily because of all the building anticipation of the day, knowing he would return to her. There's soft music coming from a harp somewhere in another room. It softens Aramis' mind behind his weary brow. He's exhausted yet the ecstatic welcome back is enough to revive his spirits.

"I've missed you," Queen Anne confesses in a whisper. Aramis' smile echoes her own, his eyes tell her the same. He might have had his hands full with children and the meeting with the monks, one part of his heart never left Paris. What an exceptional feeling to be able to come back to such an imposant house to greet a woman who is as close to his wife as he'll ever get.

"I'm not used to feelings of this intensity," she adds, confused about the turmoil her heart is in. If she was allowed, she would embrace him. She cannot do so with the guards in the corridor, even if their backs are to their monarch.

Her fingers are trembling in his grip and her legs shake while Aramis directs her to the window. It's night out, but there are candles set outside where the guards patrol the grounds. It makes for a pretty picture. It isn't snowing in the city. Aramis tugs a loose lock of hair which has found its way out of the Queen's intricate hairstyle. The pad of his finger grazes her temple doing so and such a simple touch makes her heart rejoice.

"You're also not used to living with someone who loves you as dearly as I do."

The Queen looks at him wide-eyed. His eyes are impossibly soft and caring. They bore a hole straight to her core. This time she cannot help the pleased blush spreading on her cheeks. He never said it so openly. She may never have done it either. But this was their longest separation since Aramis came to live with them.

She wishes for nothing more but to be able to kiss him right here, openly and without a care about what others might say. Her vow to God isn't something that they'd discard like this and Aramis is also quite insistent that she should respect it. He wants to do things right this time around. She only has a few months left before coming out of mourning.

So the Queen pulls her hand out of his warm one and brings rough fingers to her lips to kiss those.

"You've changed my life, Aramis."

"For the best eventually, I hope."

"Now, yes. I am positive about it."

Her girlish fantasy has come to be as close to her dream as she desired it. To be loved and to love, to have a boy to cherish and to have a relative freedom from her masculine pairs. It can only be better from now on.

"Will you dine with me, Aramis?"

"Always, my Queen."

He takes a step back, lets her breathe. The smile she's sported since spotting him hasn't disappeared. It seems to intensify with each passing moment. What a fresh start to see her so carefree every once in a while.

"I want to know everything about your children."

Their dinner is a long business, the candles almost burnt completely by the time the Queen is satisfied by the extensive tale Aramis recounts. It's as if she is drinking his words, delighted by the amusing events that happened at the monastery, by the new pieces of information he tells her about the orphans. Over the past months, Queen Anne has asked him to talk about them on many occasions, but it'll never be enough. She is eager to know as much as possible about this part of Aramis' life. She grew up with many brothers and sisters, had hopes to have many children herself. It wasn't meant to be so if she can live vicariously like Aramis is doing, she'll be fine with it.


	4. Chapter 4

When entire sentences in between " " are in italics = Spanish

* * *

 **PART IV**

Only a few days before Christmas, Aramis wakes up to find the Palace in an even greater uproar than it usually is. People milling about: servants carrying plates of cakes and food of all sorts, many you wouldn't be able to find in winter in any other part of the city. Courtiers wondering if it was worth it to come be seen by the Queen today. She has no time to spare for anyone but her son. Aramis finds them together in a large room which has been stripped of all unnecessary furniture. A stage is being built on one end and there are as many toys scattered on the floor as Aramis has ever seen. It seems that the entire nursery has been brought out here. Knowing Queen Anne she must certainly have purchased more.

The King doesn't appear to care if most of the dolls and wooden toys will not be there once the day is over. For now, he is over the moon, running from one activity to the other, watched by his governess and his mother sitting on a sofa. She smiles as Aramis bows, gives him her hand to hold for a mere second.

"Your children are coming today, Aramis!" the King exclaims, ignoring how the man bows to him as well. He's used to it by now, and so is Aramis. It passes as quickly as when others do it to him because he's their Minister. It's the natural order of things, all the better to respect the hierarchy and show that Aramis is nothing more the little King's First Minister and mentor. Louis is his son in his heart, in the Queen's heart so he won't ask for more. It's already better than what he imagined when he learned about the Queen's pregnancy.

"I'm aware, your Majesty. You are in very good spirits."

"Comedians are coming. And there will be chocolate cake."

"Aramis doesn't fancy chocolate, my darling," the Queen supplies, and her smile is so genuine once Aramis turns his head sharply toward her. She's merry as well, relieved of all official duties for the day and excited as well to have her home filled with little children.

"But, Aramis! Chocolate is the best! Even better than peaches!" The little boy looks and sounds outraged. Aramis folds his hands behind his back to keep from reaching out toward him. "You _have_ to like chocolate."

"You cannot order someone to like something, Louis."

"Can't I?" The child stands up to come close to his mother who puts her cup down and does what Aramis couldn't: she grabs the tiny hands in hers.

"You can show them how great it may be for them, you can be kind and helpful and you may do anything to have them appreciate you but as far as taste is concerned, you'll always be powerless. So you must not be too flustered with your little friends if they do not enjoy chocolate as much as you do later. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"They are coming to play and have a good time with you and Aramis. You must be nice and respectful to them."

"But I'm the King. They have to respect _me_. Papa said that."

"And he was correct. But they are also young children just like yourself and respect is mutual. If you don't respect others, they may well turn against you."

"I understand," the answer eventually comes. The little boy's brow was creased in concentration and maybe some annoyance.

Aramis has to stare at the Queen with amazement. She is raising her son to be such a great monarch even from a young age. And he's blessed to witness it all. Her lessons and the subtle way in which she pats the space beside her on the sofa so Aramis can take a seat. It's not the ideal spot to focus on the letters and demands which invariably arrive. Yet, Aramis is satisfied to work with the sounds of his son playing on the floor, of the Queen sometimes looking over his shoulder, of servants coming and going to announce new visitors.

To announce that Constance and d'Artagnan have arrived and that finally leads to Aramis putting his obligations to the side for the rest of the day.

Elodie never comes to the Palace without her daughter, reluctant as she is to leave the baby behind even if she has marvelous people to take care of her in her house. The Queen enjoys the girl, her squeals and her big eyes looking everywhere at once. She has a new rattle which is dropped more often than not, but both her and her mother are a sharp contrast from how they looked when first coming to Paris. Elodie has had gowns made to fit her new station in life. Outfits as practical as Constance's who has so much to say to Aramis about Luc.

"He's sharp-witted but we already knew this," d'Artagnan adds, conjuring memories of the young boy training at the Garrison now that it is mostly rebuilt and that it has been repopulated. Luc is a good addition to the ranks, he explains to Aramis, not that anyone ever doubted it. He's no use with a pistol so far, but he's killed a few rats with his slingshot. It's not appropriate behavior for a prospective Musketeer but it amuses the others.

d'Artagnan speaks like a true soldier, far more at ease as a Captain than Aramis would have ever been. He would never have imagined himself in a position of power and would not have agreed to be First Minister if it hadn't been Queen Anne who had asked him and if it had been for any other King. He'll never enjoy being a politician but it allows him to be close to the people he loves, to protect them and to have a family of sorts. Odd as it is.

"Did you see that I have a Musketeer pauldron, d'Artagnan?" the King inquires, pointing to his shoulder where it's strapped. Aramis has gone to welcome the children who have been announced so he has left a vacant seat that the little boy monopolizes at once.

"I did. It fits you perfectly, Sire."

"Aramis had it made me for me. So I can wear it when I ride my charger and soon I'll have a sword to go into battle."

"But not _too_ soon," the Queen chimes in. Her son shakes his head, Constance chuckles, so does Elodie and the baby in her arms clasps her hands.

As strange as it might sound, Porthos not only served her Majesty but also seemed to have grown to become a sort of friend to her. As much as any soldier can be to a Queen. It used to startle Elodie how Constance interacted with Queen Anne, how at ease the monarch was with her and even with d'Artagnan or Aramis. You could sense the deference underneath all of their actions and words yet they allowed themselves to be relaxed around one another.

In his letters, her husband replied that they had been serving the King and Queen for long years, that they defended her life and honor in terrible times which had inevitably make them become more than one would expect. Elodie has noticed it first hand, and to her immense wonder seems to be included in their little group.

No matter how out-spoken she's always been, it will take more than a few months and meetings for Elodie to be completely at ease in the presence of the Queen. Her daughter is far from these worries as she innocently tugs on the black veil on the Queen's head. The golden string shines in the light, shimmers beautifully and Marie-Cessette loves anything that glitters.

Her mother is mortified, her face turning crimson but Queen Anne only laughs, touches the baby's hair with soft fingers. Porthos' daughter is a pretty girl with her big smiles and endless babble. Her father is supposed to be back the day after tomorrow and this will certainly be a reunion that will bring tears to her eyes when Aramis will tell her all about it.

Down at the entrance of the Palace, Aramis is surrounded by excited children, little or less so. They are better dressed than they were at the monastery, most of their trousers having been replaced and the girls finally have skirts which fit them properly. All of their faces are somewhat cleaner than they used to be, even Elise's.

He has too few arms to carry them all, especially Marie who has become so big that it's an ordeal for Aramis. She used to be the one always in his arms in Douai so she resents it. Only a little until she is reminded that soon she will have the time of her life and it's all that she needs to scamper ahead of him, Marc's arms around Aramis' neck and Paul holding on to his hand as if Aramis was about to disappear.

The First Minister has retired for the day as Aramis strides in the long corridor with a flock of children trailing behind him, listening more or less carefully to what he tells them. They do remember to bow to the Queen once they have reached their destination. But only because Aramis does so and they are eager to imitate him. They also bow to the King, awkwardly, almost tripping on their feet. Their shouts have considerably lessened, impressed that they are by the rich rooms and the important people in it.

They huddle around Aramis, forgets a protocol they have never learned to stick fingers in their mouths, to hide their face against the one person they know and trust. Until the Queen stands up, comes to them and bends down a little. Her face is so kind and so pretty, the girls decide. Gentle and tender and when she speaks, it's as if she's singing, Angélique will tell Aramis later in the day.

"I have heard so many wonderful things about all of you. It's a pleasure to have you here."

A few faint _thank you_ s answer the greetings after they've been prompted to say so by Aramis. He is excellent with them, Queen Anne realizes, even though she had no doubt about this. It's a gift to be able to watch him interact with all of them. How much care and love pour out of this man whenever he has to tend to the orphans. It's another reason for the Queen to fall more in love with him in that moment. He has gone back to being the simple and affectionate man she's known him to be, the one he still is, even when he is tough and ruthless as a politician. This is a trait he'll never relinquish, that she will not allow him to forgo. It's her soft Aramis that she wants to share with her friends and these children.

They make it all come to the fore and Aramis is oblivious to the rest of the audience. His eyes sparkle once they meet hers and he has put the little boy down so he could pad after the others who had been urged to gather in front of the stage by the King.

His mother can't recall the last time her son looked that joyful, forgetting who he is to enjoy the silly show put on by the comedians, the one which drowns the conversation she was trying to have with Constance and Porthos' wife. Aramis is standing right behind her, she can feel his presence without touching him and that's enough. They'll never be able to hold hands in public like d'Artagnan and Constance are doing but that's fine. They have gestures and words of their own to share their feelings.

"The drawing I had commissioned for Porthos has arrived," Elodie mentions during the intermission in the short play, after the giggles and clapping have quietened and the children are offered refreshment by two maids dressed like fairies. The girls are hypnotized by the shiny fabric of the wings, how they glitter when the women move.

"Just in time!" Aramis is relieved. What a better use of money than to send Porthos back to the front with a keepsake of his daughter to have close to him at war? He's also glad that Elodie is adjusting to her new situation and that the presence of the Queen doesn't stop her from carrying a normal conversation.

"Does it look like you?" he asks the baby and takes the babble for a yes. "Will you drive your father crazy while he's in town?"Another babble and the little girl reaches up to the man who is in her house so often she'll recognize his face anywhere.

Aramis holds her tight to his chest, leans back a bit at the fingers trying to pull on his beard. Marie-Cessette giggles any time he bounces her in his arms and if the Queen believed her heart couldn't swell more at the sight of Aramis with children, she was obviously mistaken. He has so much love to offer to all.

"This was a marvellous idea, your Majesty," Constance mentions, dipping her lips in the hot chocolate offered to her. It's too bitter and thick for her taste, but perhaps she could add some sugar to it. Is that allowed? The pastries are heavenly, though, so she is more than delighted when d'Artagnan decides it's too sugary for him and he gives her what left of his.

"The King is as animated as I've ever seen him. It must be nice to have children his age to play with. Regardless of their social status."

Constance should know about this, in regard of her relationship with the Queen who has to agree with her friend's observations. It was her goal from the beginning, to show her son that you don't have to come from a wealthy background to be worthy of living. And to also show him that by including commoners in his life, he might get to know and understand them better.

Some of the orphans are sticking to themselves or to the governess, frightened by the agitated little monarch. But the two boys who were hanging on to Aramis upon their arrival are clustered with the King, playing with wooden cubes, building towers and castles, laughing and shrieking when everything collapses on them.

Her son will never have a normal life, he wasn't born to one, yet she will try with all her might to give him a semblance of childhood before he has to plunge into formal duties. Besides, he seems to be getting along with most of them well, attempting to draw the older girls into a bigger game. Pierre -it has to be Pierre, the boy with hair so close to Aramis'- is stuffing his face with cakes, until he realizes he is being watched by the Queen and he stops mid-mouthful. His fellow companion bursts out laughing at the sight, so do the girls and then her son's laughter fills the room and this has to be the best afternoon of her life.

"They will have to come more often," Queen Anne decides, her eyes set on the makeshift playground and its occupants. "Aramis, I want your children to come more often," she repeats, raising her voice to bring his attention away from the adorable baby in his embrace. Elodie is indulging on sweet treats as well, taking advantage of her daughter being taken care of, be it by the First Minister of France. Porthos will love this.

"This could definitely be arranged, Majesty. I don't suppose they'll disagree."

There's a mess of juice and water on the carpet that the maids are trying to clean. Wet footprints all over the room after the King and the children have been invited up on the stage by the comedians to try on some costumes and create a little show of their own. They make for a merry group that d'Artagnan compares to his younger Cadets.

"Do they also dress up in wigs? What have you turned the Garrison into?" Aramis teases his friend, ignores how the soldier glowers as Aramis sits down only to stand back up because the little girl has decided she didn't like him to be still.

"Shut it."

"Oh, you don't tell the First Minister of France to shut it, d'Artagnan."

"First Minister or not, I am still a better swordsman than you are," he replies to the jest.

"That sounds like a challenge."

"It might be."

"Nobody will duel anyone," the Queen cuts them short. "I won't have my First Minister and the Captain of the Musketeers injure themselves."

"This must be because you have never seen us train, your Majesty," Aramis reassures her kindly. "We wouldn't hurt each other. But we could also have a shooting contest."

"Now, that'd be unfair. You know you'd win, Aramis."

"Who knows? Training all these young men must have sharpened your eyes as well."

"How about we wait for Porthos to be back and see if he wants to join us?" d'Artagnan chooses to ignore the provocation. He might be busy at the Garrison, elated to spend so much time alone with his wife, he nonetheless misses his three friends. Seeing Aramis even on a regular basis isn't the same anymore. Athos has no intention of returning to the city anytime soon and Porthos has been gone for such a long time, in spite of his reports. It feels like he is losing touch with the three friends he made when coming to Paris all these years ago. He's eager to rekindle their former friendship, to spend some time with them without women with them, be them his wife or the Queen of France.

"As long as you don't hurt my husband either," Elodie urges, impatient that she also is to be reunited with a man she has learned to know through his letters and his gentle written words, but with whom she has spent so little time. She has no idea how long his leave will be, yet she trusts Aramis to stretch it as long as he can. She's aware he misses his best friend, too.

"It's snowing!" The sharp shrill puts a halt to the men's banter as all the children hurry to the windows, their faces pushed against the freezing glass to look outside. It also draws a long awed sound from the baby which leads Aramis to join the astonished troop so that Porthos' daughter can see whatever is drawing attention.

"We must go outside, Aramis," the King declares. Aramis is standing right behind him and he sounds like the father he's always wanted to be when he meets the expectant eyes looking up at him.

"They don't all have coats as warm as you do, your Majesty. You wouldn't want anyone to be sick."

"I can give them clothes! They're my friends."

Aramis couldn't be happier of the impact the orphans have made on the child. One glance at the guards oblivious to the proceedings, used to whatever may happen inside the Palace and trained to not react to anything which isn't out of the ordinary, one glance to the maids still attempting to restore some order in the carefully crafted mess, and Aramis puts one hand on the King's shoulder. Firm yet delicate. The boy hardly reacts to it in a negative way.

"I'm pleased your enjoy their company but I doubt even you would own enough to dress them all."

"But it's snowing, Aramis! Look!" It's a chorus of little voices surrounding him, so much that he has to chuckle and kneel to be on their level. The baby has grabbed a handful of his hair. One Marie to replace another.

"How about you come back in a few days and we'll be better prepared then?"

"What if it's stopped snowing?" The inquisitive tone comes from Marie. The monks in Douai wouldn't let them out in the snow unless they had work to do outside so she's upset Aramis won't let them do it either in Paris.

"Well if it turns out to be the case then I'm sure the King will think of more activities to do. Won't you?"

"Yes! You _must_ come back! I can show you my horse and…."

"You have a horse?" André cuts him off, astounded. The King is proud to nod to confirm. He very much likes the attention and all the people his mother and Aramis have gathered to play with him. They're much better than his governess or the other adults. They are his age more or less and they always laugh at his jokes. He wants to see them all the time. They shouldn't leave the Palace.

"Maman, I want to go see my horse!"

"That sounds like a wonderful idea, darling, but it's almost time for your friends to leave."

"But I'm very fond of playing with them!"

"We can invite them another day so you will have plenty of time to show them your pony and they may even want to ride on it."

"But it's…."

"Louis." The Queen can plainly notice how displeased her son is that she's telling him no, that she's encouraging him to share his toys, especially the living ones. He surrenders nevertheless, because he's been taught to not cause scenes and that his mother only has his best interests at heart. Constance helps soften the blow to his small pride.

"If you invite me as well, Sire, we can teach them the best spots to play hide and seek."

This receives a reaction close to a round of applause. The children have always loved playing this game, great to teach them numbers and to escape Aramis' lessons by hiding in improbable places at the monastery.

"Did you have fun?" Aramis asks them later when they are all back in the carriage and ready to take them to the orphanage for the night. Their hands are full of toys and Aramis doubts they'll be hungry for any dinner. Elise's entire face seems to be coated with sugar. Paul's mouth and teeth have turned dark from all the chocolate he indulged in. His eyelids keep on closing by themselves. It's not wonder given all the running around they did. Aramis is actually amazed Elodie's daughter eventually managed to fall asleep in spite of the racket.

Seven heads nod enthusiastically, most of the orphans shouting above one another to tell him what they prefered about their afternoon. It brings so much joy to Aramis that he fears his heart might burst from it. It gives him intense emotions to have made their day, to be able to spend more time with them after so long, to have brought such bright smiles on their faces.

"We'll see each other very soon, agreed?"

Seven heads nod again, each child demands a kiss goodbye and one almost falls out of the window of the carriage waving out of it. Aramis cringes, recognizes Angélique's arm reaching out to rescue the reckless boy and all is well in the end.

After long hours spent amid children's laughter and screams, the corridors are oddly quiet while he walks back to his quarters. He may also have a headache now that all the excitement has subsided, but he wouldn't trade it for the world. He cannot wait to lie down and thank God for this exceptional day he's been given to spend with almost all the people dear to him.

It's without counting on the Queen patiently waiting in his office. She has lost her veil, offered to Marie-Cessette who was mesmerized by it. It's the least she could do for a tiny girl that is growing on her.

"This used to be my favorite time of the day in Douai," Aramis explains, unfazed by her sudden appearance, dismissing her escort with a wave of his hand. The Queen accepts the glass of wine he gathers from a small cupboard.

"Drinking?"

"The children all sleeping and quiet."

"I can understand why. Louis is resting before supper although I don't presume he'll eat much."

"Is there any of the cakes left?"

"There was. I gave it to Constance and Porthos' wife, since you wouldn't share it with me."

"I would have been more than happy to watch you eat it."

Aramis dips his head at the cheeky comment, relishes in Queen Anne's soft laugh.

"They are as adorable as you said, Aramis. And they love you so much."

"They did brighten my days at the monastery. You've made me so joyful bringing them back to the city."

The Queen turns her head, watches the light of the candle shine behind his dark and damp curls from the few minutes spent outside in the falling snow. Exhaustion doesn't lessen his beauty and she is blessed for these few minutes by themselves. She rejoices in being able to include him in her friends as if it was a normal thing to do. But these moments alone have been her favorite times of the day for long months. Even if they do nothing more than talk and sit close. They're learning so much about each other and despite the seemingly formality of their conversations, the Queen always senses their growing familiarity behind it all.

" _I've rarely seen our son so cheerful."_

"If you listen to him, Majesty, he'll want to invite them first thing in the morning." Aramis acknowledges her statement by squeezing her hand, rubbing the back of it with a warm finger. It's a light touch which makes her close her eyes for a moment.

"You're too late. He's already made that request."

"And?"

"All good things in moderation."

"Does that preclude wine?"

"Tonight it does," the Queen replies, holding her empty glass to be refilled. Her cheeks have taken on a rosy color from the drink and all the happiness she's been able to witness throughout the day. Aramis surrounded by children is now the most exquisite sight and nothing will surpass it. He doesn't discriminate between them, loves them all equally, is affectionate with all, whether they are still babes or close to ten years old.

"You love them all," the Queen states, a honest report from his attitude during the afternoon. Aramis may be a soldier at heart, he's always had and always will have a soft spot for the little ones, no matter who they are, where they come from.

"I do. They're precious to me."

"All of them?"

"Absolutely."

"Even Louis?"

She asks the question simply for the sake of asking it, to hear him utter out loud what she knows deep in her heart. They have so few occasions to talk freely.

"Especially Louis. I'll never thank you enough for the chance you've given me."

"I'm so lucky, Aramis."

"We all are."

In the quiet and privacy of his office, without any ears close by to listen to what they are saying, with her hair somewhat down because the veil is gone to hold it up as it usual does, only her heavy dress makes her actually look like the Queen that she is. This is Aramis' favorite thing about his Queen: when she allows herself to look and act like a woman and not only like the royal person that she has to be every day of her life.

Her wisdom and cleverness are resplendent on her face in spite of her soft confessions and how fiercely she holds on to his hand.

" _You're pretty, Anne. You're a spectacular woman."_

Aramis says it smoothly, the delicate accents of his Spanish flowing around her, making her feel safe, loved. Adored. So do the silky lips pressing to her temple or the fingers brushing blond locks away from her lovely eyes so that Aramis can gaze into them fully.

" _I love you, Aramis. And seeing you with the children made me love you more. I wasn't even aware I could love someone this much."_

Another kiss lands on her forehead. She smells of roses.

They'll make it work, Aramis promises. They are already doing it and as time passes, they'll find more ways to be happy together, to give her the life she's always craved. It won't be as simple as she had hoped, but it's already more real than the Queen would have ever imagined.

She'll be a happy Queen. Standing her ground even when Aramis doesn't agree with her on important decisions like he did the previous day. She was annoyed for the rest of their meeting, remembering how the late King used to treat her, sneering at her opinions. Only to be later reminded that Aramis may be a Minister with ideas of his own which don't always coincide with hers, he's also a willing companion in her life, reading her poems in front of the fire in her apartments. All traces of their mindless argument gone in their relative intimacy.

Aramis is caring with her, giving her time and space. They can take their time. Together, with their son, with their friends, with the flock of children that Queen Anne intends to know better and to invite as often as she can.

She can live like this, enjoying it to its fullest instead of suffering through her days. Determined to change her existence and shape the one of her son the best she can.


End file.
